


Imperfect Armament

by saint_troll



Series: Imperfect Armament Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene: Free to Be You and Me, Supernatural: Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saint_troll/pseuds/saint_troll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is compelled to seek Dean's understanding on the differences between humanity and angels.</p><p>***</p><p>"He can’t breath.  The lore is getting all messed up in his head and he can’t tell what is right and what isn’t anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperfect Armament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyCherryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyCherryRed/gifts).



Castiel glances up at Dean then averts his eyes only to do it again. Jutting out his chin he turns away. Jimmy’s body is so receptive to the intense flare of shame and something strangely akin to affection. Castiel does not appreciate yet another weakness exposed; even if only to himself. 

The reality of his virginity shouldn’t be such a shock to Dean. The opportunity and inclination had truthfully never presented itself. It was never addressed as such a pivotal issue until now. It would seem that dying without partaking in such activities was highly stigmatized. 

***

There is something wrong. His vessel’s lungs aren’t working properly. Castiel trembles as a surge of panic coils inside of him. Dean is talking and looking around the room like there is absolutely nothing wrong. They are patronizing a brothel. A. Brothel. 

He can’t breath. The lore is getting all messed up in his head and he can’t tell what is right and what isn’t anymore. When a drink is sat in front of him, he doesn’t think twice about what’s in the glass. Castiel gulps it steadily down until a woman’s hand is reaching for his. Dean shoves some money in his other hand as they depart. His throat constricts so tightly that he can’t bring himself to speak. There’s no guidance on what to say in this instance anyway. He follows the woman, Chastity, to the back rooms in a numb fog.

***

There are still many hours until sunrise. But it seems that Dean is quite content on his own, so Castiel allows him this indulgence. He conceives it and so it becomes. Instead of next to Dean in the Impala, he is now sitting as he was once before in the darkened hotel room waiting for morning to break. 

He is startled out of his reverie when Dean arrives at the hotel no more than a half an hour later. Castiel casts his eyes downward. The time alone has allowed the events of the evening to sink into his psyche. Yet again, he’d proven an inadequate host; failing at the most basic of human interactions. It was of no consequence, in the end, he had told himself. Finding God, succeeding; that was what mattered.

Peering up at Dean, Castiel waits for the mockery and laughter. Both of which, he can actually tolerate because even after all of the darkness he’s seen in humanity… laughter shines brighter than anything he’s witnessed since Heaven. It doesn’t come and the night feels bleaker for it. He watches Dean circle the room. First, toeing off his shoes and then shucking his jacket off of his shoulders. “Spill.” The hunter’s voice is gruff and inpatient; not unlike its owner. 

Castiel allows a moment to pass before responding. “If you are requesting that I explain my actions, I cannot.”

“Cas…”

“Dean.”

“Fine. You want to go around playing Dr. Phil, be my guest.” Dean flings himself into the chair opposite the table from Castiel. He props his feet up on the surface and winds his fingers together over his stomach.

He doesn’t understand the reference or his vessel’s reaction. Jimmy’s shame and affection flares up again. This time Castiel can feel it coloring his cheeks. When he attempts to swallow it down, the noise reverberates around the hotel room like an echo in a canyon. Or so it seems to his ears. “Things are not as they are there… here.”

“What?” Confusion curls over Dean’s features; catching the corner of his mouth and dragging it upward into a mockery of a smile. 

Looking skyward even though a ceiling blocks his view, Castiel prays for clarity. It comes to him in a flash of realization that is gone as soon as it has arrives. “Gender.”

Dean’s face shifts in the dim lighting. Shadows dance along his jawline and fall unmoving beneath his eyes. He clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

“This vessel?” Castiel looks to his shoulder, down his chest and to his knees before looking back up at Dean. “We are not so rigidly defined in Heaven.”

“Whoa. TMI, dude.” 

Attempting to smile, Castiel finds as much light in Dean’s own personal style of humor as he does in his laughter. Sure, he doesn’t understand over half of it. But it is a comfort nonetheless. And if there has been yet another social faux pas, he’s unaware of it. “You inquired.”

“Not about that, I didn’t!” Dean’s eyes widen comically as he gestures towards his lap.

Looking to his groin curiously, then back up at Dean, Castiel finds himself completely flummoxed. “To what are you referring?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shakes his head and looks toward the opposite corner of the room. “Nothing. Just.” He clears his throat. “Just trying to avoid the group therapy thing… y’know?”

“You inquired. Was my answer not to your expectations? Is that the cause of your discomfort?” Castiel let himself fall into the frustration that had begun to swirl around him. Why was it that even the most simple conversations with Dean left him in this state? 

***

There are exactly three hours until sunrise. Castiel has been, for a time, watching the night pass through the sheer curtains of the hotel room. Dean had laid down, still dressed, on one of the two beds around an hour ago. The low rumble of his snoring tugs at Castiel’s ears and he finds himself breathing in time with the hunter. In this reprieve from expectations, he allows his attention to finally center in on the most glaring of his weaknesses. The hardened features of the man lose their edge in slumber. The anger and fear bleed away. He looks every part the Cherubim, he muses. 

When Dean’s eyes open suddenly, Castiel startles. They’d talked about this; personal space, oversharing, watching people while they slept. Apparently, that kind of transparency was considered taboo. 

“You were doing it again, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” There’s no use in lying. Besides, even during the apocalypse, he’s sure that lying is still a sin. Not only that, it was outright painful in this form. He only did as such in cases of emergency.

“C’mon, man. I was trying to sleep.” Dean punches his pillow a few times. Castiel doesn’t see how it changes things all that much but it seems to appease him. Nuzzling into the same pillow, Dean returns his gaze. “Don’t you sleep?”

Honestly, he hadn’t thought about it. The vessel reacted to his habitation in ways that the humans around him seemed to find unusual. Thus far he hadn’t sought out their preferred temporary amnesty from reality. “No.”

“Well, try. Damn it.”

“If these are to be my last hours, is sleep a suitable enterprise by which to pass the time?”

Groaning, Dean rolls over onto his back and blinks owlishly up at the ceiling. “They give classes in guilt tripping at Angel School, or something?”

How many times was he going to have to explain that there wasn’t Angel School, or Angel Boot Camp or any other mundane human training facility preceded by the word Angel? “Dean.” 

“I know, I know. No such thing.” He huffs out a breath and glances over at Castiel. “So, if we’re not sleeping and we’re not working on that virginity thing… what do you want to do, Cas?”

Castiel frowns. There were many things he wished to do, but none were above spending his final hours in the company of the eldest Winchester. The question remains unanswered. “For you to understand.” 

Dean arches an eyebrow at him. An act that makes Jimmy’s stomach twitch in an unusual manner. “Understand what?”

“The differences between humanity and angels.” It was an entirely earnest answer lacking any form of subterfuge or manipulation; yet, it felt like inappropriate to attempt such influence on their conversation.

“Is that all?” A chuckle escapes Dean and Castiel feels immediately elated at the sound. After a few minutes of silence, he finally added. “Anything specific?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

His hands twitch. He grips the worn fabric of his trenchcoat. It really wasn’t suitable to press this issue but it had metamorphosed into something more than idle discussion. Castiel felt compelled to seek Dean’s understanding. “I believe you voiced your objection to the topic earlier.”

“Oh, oh, Christ. You’re really not going to drop that.” Castiel responds by tilting his head and frowning. “Ugh, fine. So, you said things are different down here… uh, gender wise?”

“Yes. Humanity perceives a great distinction between genders.”

“And the Angelic populace doesn’t?”

“It is inconsequential.” 

“You mean you’re all bi?!” Dean’s face contorts comically before his eyes. 

Castiel does not understand the word and opts to skim over the fact. “We are neither male, female, nor otherwise defined until we find ourselves in the role of host.”

Gaping, Dean opens his mouth to speak then shuts it. He repeats the process exactly three times. “So, you could’ve been a chic?”

“No.”

“But you said…” He protests.

“Jimmy is not female.”

“But if he had been?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Dean’s eyes scan over Castiel briefly. He was yawning before he could finish. “And you’re telling me this, why?”

“I seek your understanding on the matter.”

“Uh, huh.” Dean replies doubtfully. His eyes are sagging even as he speaks. “Listen if you won’t try sleeping, will you at least give ye olde creep while ya sleep a break?”

Bowing his head, Castiel avoids Dean’s gaze. It wasn’t as if he was entirely adverse to the idea of sleep. His body yearns for rest but he doubts it will alter the constant discomfort of this existence. Castiel simply feels safer when he is alert and aware of the hunter’s presence. If he gives into his host’s need for sleep, he will lose this advantage. “Yes, Dean.” 

“Now what?” 

Clearly Dean believes the conversation isn’t over despite being half asleep. “Nothing.”

“Cas.”

“There is nothing more.”

“Cas.”

“You are exhausted, Dean. Please sleep. Sunrise comes soon.”

“Castiel.”

He doesn’t mean to reveal himself so quickly. It just occurs. “What if something happens while we sleep?” 

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Ca-a-as.” Dean’s voice breaks into a sound that is part laughter and part exasperation. 

“If I promise not to stare, will you allow me to lie next to you?” Castiel’s throat constricts suddenly. He can’t quite believe he’s acted so boldly. More than anything, he wishes it was as simple as blaming it on Jimmy. Admittedly, he’s been doing that for days in the hunter’s presence. What if all these new and unusual feelings are his alone? What would the other angels think of him? More importantly, how much damage has he done to the trust forming between himself and Dean?

“Lie next to me?!”

Castiel watches Dean’s face. He expects to see revulsion or confusion but finds only a weary tiredness. “Yes.” Sighing, Dean finally laughs. The sound sends pleasant jolts down Castiel’s spine. Eyes dropping closed, he inhales slowly. 

“Why?”

He meets Dean’s inquiry with an expression that is no doubt becoming a common one to befall his features. After all, it is not unlike the one he was wearing earlier that evening at the brothel. Castiel shakes his head and averts his eyes to the floor. “Nevermind.”

“Whatever. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just get over here, I’m about to pass out in a puddle of my own drool.”

Standing slowly, Castiel considers removing Jimmy’s trenchcoat but decides against it. He presses his palm into the mattress in front of Dean’s chest. His body’s warmth has seeped into the fabric. With a grunt of appreciation, Castiel positions himself in front of the hunter with a quiet sigh. The thrum of Dean’s heartbeat and the shallow in and out of his breathing filters through his senses. This is more than manageable. It isn’t long before his host’s body caves and Castiel’s eyes slide closed.


End file.
